


all i need darling is a life in your shape

by TheGrammarHawk



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, During Canon, F/F, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Fluff, Gender-Neutral My Unit | Byleth, Marriage Proposal, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Seteth is really out here adopting students left and right, it's just mentioned tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28356447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGrammarHawk/pseuds/TheGrammarHawk
Summary: I love everybody because I love youI don't need the city, and I don't need proofAll I need, darling is a life in your shapeI picture it, soft, and I acheCount Galatea gives Ingrid an ultimatum.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sylvain Jose Gautier/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 1
Kudos: 53





	all i need darling is a life in your shape

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spacesquidlings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacesquidlings/gifts).



> Title and summary lyrics from Mitski's "Strawberry Blond".
> 
> A secret santa gift for my wonderful, darling girlfriend. Princess, my dear, know how fond I am of you, for you. I'll write you fluff all day, despite my penchant for hurt/comfort, which I do hope I didn't splash too much in here, lmao.
> 
> My apologies if there are any errors! It's 2:40am and very unbeta'd.

The palace of Fhirdiad was alight with song and dance in celebration of the newly-king Dimitri. Ingrid wasn’t much for the sort of event, but with Dorothea at her side she had felt excited to indulge a little in the party. It was still wartimes, after all, and one could never tell how long the good feelings would last. Besides, it was enough of a gala that Dorothea was interested in attending after the coronation, and who was Ingrid to deny her a dance or two?

Granted, she had also wanted to introduce Dorothea to her father, but that wasn’t going to happen. She had just caught glimpse of her father hovering along the wall of the festivities talking to Seteth, something that set a small coil of anxiety off in Ingrid’s gut as she attempted to consider what they could possibly be talking about, when Annette had burst out of the crowd and tugged Dorothea away – apparently Manuela had been supposed to provide some vocal entertainment and song for the ongoing merriment but had gotten quite too drunk to properly fill in the role.

Ingrid loved listening to Dorothea’s voice, of course, nothing was more soothing to her soul. It simply would’ve been _nice_ if she had had the opportunity to introduce the woman she was courting to her father.

As soon as she was left alone for more than five minutes her father and Seteth descended upon her. Instead of his usually stern disposition, Seteth was holding a goblet of wine and had a small smile on his face. It was the sort of gentle grin that seemed reassuring and comforting, one that made Ingrid think back to when she was small and her own father smiled at her like that without thinking of crests and marriages and debts–

“Ingrid,” Count Galatea started, face stoic despite the softness of his tone, “I fear we must reach an ultimatum on the discussion of your marriage.”

The wince Seteth gave was, at least, somewhat more subtle than the way Ingrid’s face blanched. Even so, she noticed it; it was present in the way his lips tightened from a smile to a grimace, the blink of green eyes as familiar to her as her own, as Dorothea’s – not at all the same as her father’s hazel.

 _There are people on your side,_ it reminded her. _People that will stand by your autonomy, stand by your decisions._

Undeterred by his daughter’s silence, Count Galatea continued forth, “Our people will see his Majesty’s coronation as a sign of peace, regardless of the state of the war. It is an ushering forth of generations – especially considering the new Duke Fraldarius. I fear I – I know, Ingrid, that we discussed putting off talks of marriage until after the war, but everyone’s quite restless. If you are going to keep fighting – and you _may_ , I will not attempt to stop you, should you agree – you must be betrothed.

“See it as an insurance to the Galatea territories – insurance of stability to come.”

Ingrid’s mouth turned dry, fingers clenching and unclenching at her sides. It was a good thing she had abandoned her wine glass earlier after wrinkling her nose at the first sip – Dorothea’s company had been so much sweeter on her palate. Now she was devoid of it – of the soft fingers, magic-warmed, against her palm, of a weight leaning against her side, ankles knocking together while they sat…

The only thing she could sense was the coldness in her limbs, the numbness crawling up her neck, and the dulcet sounds of the one she cared for so immensely as she sang arias to the people dancing. She reached for it, then, the powerful, lilting tone, and let it swirl around her, grounding her to the here and now.

Ingrid opened the eyes she hadn’t known closed, taking in a deep breath. Her father peered at her, his thin face concerned, as he appeared to wait for an answer. As though no conversation had been started, Seteth spoke, voice light as he pulled a small leather pouch out.

“Ah, I almost forgot to mention this – Byleth asked me to give this to you. They said that they did as you asked of them.”

Cupping the small parcel in her hands, Ingrid took another steadying breath. The current aria faded into nothing as the crowd politely clapped before the next could start. With that, she found the strength to equip her voice.

“Father, I can’t… I can’t be pulled from the frontlines. You know that by now. I’m… Professor Byleth thinks I’m too important. I can’t go home.”

It was a refusal, a soft _no_. _Don’t force this,_ her words echoed. _We’ve gotten so much better at communicating. You know I don’t want this._

“You don’t have to,” came the reply, as gentle as possible with such a stern backing. “I’ve looked… closer to home. I asked Duke Fraldarius if he would be open to an arrangement, I hadn’t managed to get one from Rodrigue, but he claimed that he’s already _engaged_.”

“He is,” Ingrid admitted, the slightest fondness in her tone, “entirely by accident.”

“To Lady Dominic,” Seteth added at Count Galatea’s confusion. Neither had been present for the event, but the news had spread rather rapidly once it had happened.

It had taken place the night of Rodrigue’s death. Annette had been trying to console Felix in her own frantic, caring way. Felix hadn’t wanted company, but Annette was always the exception, with her promises of _it’ll be okay, we’re going to get through this, I’ll be with you, I won’t ever leave you._

All it had taken was an ever-snarky _What is this, a proposal?_ to both fluster Annette and seal the deal.

Count Galatea nodded to himself, casting a glance over the room before starting again. “I had asked his Majesty for his consideration earlier, when I had given him my congratulations.”

Ingrid flushed, horror rising in her chest. Her father had – he had _asked Dimitri_ if he would _marry her_? Or, knowing her father, if he would at least consider her when considering a queen – or, _goddess_ , did he just ask Dimitri to share his _thoughts_? Ingrid couldn’t imagine Dimitri stumbling through such a conversation. “What… did he say?”

A weary shake of the head. “He said if you so desired to wed him, you’d have to ask him yourself.”

Ingrid considered the new king as he waltzed among the people, a flash of green speaking to the professor on his arm. Even if she wasn’t mortified at the very _concept_ of asking Dimitri’s hand in marriage, she didn’t have it in her to get between the two that were so clearly in love.

With a heavy sigh betraying his exhaustion of the subject, Count Galatea filed Dimitri away as a lost cause. It simply wasn’t in his daughter’s nature to do such a thing, no matter how long she’d known their king.

It left him with the option he hadn’t wanted to test.

“I do have a present offer for your hand. I know we agreed over writing that I not openly collect offers for your marriage, but this comes from a friend. There’s no ulterior motives, the whole family’s history is known. You’ve always gotten along with Sylvain, Ingrid, and Margrave Gautier’s offer is exceedingly beneficial to Galatea – both of you have crests, and the margrave is willing to help cover food costs for our people and share resources. Given the reputation Sylvain’s gotten, it appears that his father is losing hope in finding him a proper spouse. It would benefit both families immensely, Ingrid, surely you must see that.”

Stomach sinking through the floor, Ingrid dipped her head. An engagement to Sylvain – it would save _both_ of them. She’d gain money from a marriage with someone she actually _knew_ , someone she already _cared_ about. Granted, Sylvain was more similar to a brother than anything else, but it was better to deal with the devil she knew than the devil she didn’t. He knew he wouldn’t have to worry about her using him, not when she was a friend who _knew_ him. In fact, being married would get other women off his back – he’d have safety to be himself, with her. They’d both likely get on with affairs on the side, _consorts_ that would allow them to see who they wanted, but…

_“They keep glancing at each other, you know. Giving each other the look.”_

_“Hmm?” Ingrid had replied, glancing up from a book. “Who? What look?”_

_Dorothea’s eyes twinkled with amusement as she batted Ingrid’s shoulder lightly. “Sylvain and Mercedes! They keep sneaking looks at each other when the other isn’t watching, ones of longing and fondness and such deep love. You know, Ingrid dear, that look full of tragic desire, when you care so deeply for another person but you can’t have them, something’s in the way. It’s the way the professor looks at Dimitri when he’s… you know. Standing over near the rubble.”_

_Understanding filled Ingrid as she perked up, attempting to speak, only for Dorothea to keep going on, small smile on her face as she adjusted one of her earrings._

_“The way I used to… look at you, you know. Before.”_

“I can’t.”

Along the edge of the crowd, Sylvain offered his hand to take Mercedes to dance, cheeky grin in place. The healer accepted with a roll of her eyes and soft giggle, as though Sylvain was being frivolous in his accompanying her. It didn’t mean that she missed the care in his eyes. Every conversation was a dance in itself for them, but it didn’t dilute the feeling behind it.

Face pinched, Ingrid crossed her arms, pain clenching in her chest, “I can’t, Father. I – I can’t. He – I – I love someone else. We’ve fought together a lot, they cover enemies from afar, I cover them from nearby threats, we just… compliment each other.”

 _That_ got a look of surprise from the count. “Is it that – what was his name? Ashe Ubert, the child adopted in by Lonato? I do believe hearing of his skill as an archer. Recovering the Gaspard territories and enfolding them into Galatea’s wealth could be arranged…”

An image of Ashe shaking with tears upon recovering Dedue flashed through her mind. She replaced the bittersweet memory with one of the two slipping flowers onto the other’s ears almost as quickly.

“No,” Ingrid spoke firmly, tucking away the nearly-forgotten bag Seteth had returned to her. “I… the person I’m courting was a student with us at the monastery, yes, but they – they’re not from Faerghus. Not a… not a noble.”

“Not a–”

“Ah, yes,” Seteth mused, startling the two to remember his presence, “yes, very smart, that one. Excels in magic, powerful in battle. Protects your daughter quite well, if I may. An amenable partner indeed.”

The weight in her gut was soothed slightly by Seteth’s stoic attempts at being a proper wingman – though, perhaps a more proper term would be a wing _dad_ , as it were – his added points serene in a comfortable sense, but stern enough that it would be awkward for her father to argue with him present.

The awkwardness didn’t appear to be quite enough.

“Ingrid Brandl Galatea,” the count started, voice low and tired, “you know that I desire your happiness, but the matters of one over all those we govern? The war is weakening Galatea further, Ingrid. Without proper funds – it will be very difficult to get the people to understand otherwise. You need to wed someone who can keep the territory _together_ , not – not give reason for more unrest. Someone to inspire, and bring in funds…”

“Commoners are worth more than you can imagine, you know. Take Miss Arnault, if you will,” he added, gesturing with his wineglass toward the platform on which Dorothea sang, “she has no real amount of personal funds, nor crest, but she has still made quite the name for herself. Opera songstress as she is, certainly her presence would provide tourism and revenue? Be wary of being closedminded.”

But Count Galatea only frowned up at the stage, stunting the feeble hope Ingrid grew at Seteth’s words. “I fear that without a guarantee of stability, marriage might not be enough to soothe the masses.” Hand upon Ingrid’s shoulder, he sighed. “Ingrid, I want your happiness, you know this. But it is still my duty – _our_ duty – to aid our people. That is why you joined this cause. Please don’t make this harder than it must be.

“Understand the finale line, Ingrid. I am trying to be flexible, but needs must. Either… you find someone you can agree to wed, or you withdraw from the war efforts.”

Ingrid hardly felt the kiss her father pressed to her hand before he left, Seteth withdrawing only moments later with a murmur of strength to her.

As for Ingrid, she simply stared over to Dorothea’s performance, heart aching.

***

Ingrid pushed into her quarters hours later, the party having ended. She remembered this wing of the palace Fhirdiad easily, it being the one her family would stay in when she visited. Nearby the rooms set aside for the Gautier and Fraldarius families were being stayed in by Felix and Sylvain as well, their other classmates having been assigned rooms elsewhere, where they could be spared.

Not that Annette or Mercedes would be needing their own rooms, anyways. Nor, it seemed, would Dorothea, considering where she sat upon the edge of Ingrid’s bed, removing lace from her hair before brushing it out.

The shimmering eyes and smile thrown at her at the sound of the door opening made Ingrid’s knees weak: “Oh, Ingrid, darling, there you are! Be a dear and help me out, will you? I’m _exhausted_ from the festivities, can hardly hold the brush myself~… oh, and I snatched one of the last plates of sweets before retiring, in case you wanted some? I know how excited you’ve been to have some Faerghan cuisine!”

Immense warmth flooded out the nervous numbness that had been threatening to take over her system; Ingrid shut the door and slipped to sit on the bed behind her partner. Fondly smiling as Dorothea started recounting the fun she’d had whenever separated from Ingrid that night, from sharing a dance with the smashed Manuela to giggling with Flayn over some of the Faerghan customs.

“After that, I think I must’ve spent over an hour dancing with Annette when Felix left! What a sourpuss, but maybe he was right, she kept stepping on my dress and, _oh,_ my _feel_ , they’re probably to swollen to even get these shoes off of them! Thank the goddess we aren’t scheduled to march tomorrow.”

“Let me,” Ingrid offered, sliding off the bed to kneel down on the floor. Her own turmoil must have shown on her face then as Dorothea ghosted a hand down her cheek.

“Oh, darling, I saw you speaking to your father earlier. Did he say something? You seem… put out.”

Inhaling through her nose, Ingrid nodded, feeling the gentleness of Dorothea’s motions as she went to now fix Ingrid’s hair. “He… gave me an ultimatum. Now that his Majesty is king, he’s worried that the Galatean territory will become unstable if they don’t see us coming together as well. He… he said that either I must resign from the war efforts or, or… at least get engaged. Apparently he made _rounds_ , tried to talk to all the guys I know. No luck. It’s up to me to find the proper suitor.”

Dorothea’s hand stilled. Ingrid didn’t have to look up to see the realization on her face – Dorothea _knew_ her. She _knew_ what she would pick, just as _Ingrid_ knew that if she looked up, she’d see something a little fragile, a little broken. Instead, she took one of Dorothea’s shoes and carefully took it off.

“Well,” Dorothea started, both of them pretending her voice didn’t shake, “I… I understand, Ingrid. You certainly can’t just… leave the war. That’s not who you are. I would never stop you – or be angry over it, my sweet, _darling_ Ingrid. No man will _ever_ be good enough for you, though, just – just remember that. Oh, Ingrid, you’re so _wonderful_.”

Other shoe also removed and set aside, Ingrid nodded both to herself and Dorothea. “You’re right,” she agreed, voice soft as she felt Dorothea kiss her hairline, a hand lingering on her shoulder, “on all accounts. I can’t leave, and no man… I don’t think I even _like_ men, Dorothea. I’ve never liked a man in the way I love you.”

Carefully, Ingrid pulled out the small pouch Seteth had given to her in Byleth’s stead, pulling out the small trinket inside as she remained at Dorothea’s feet. It was a small ring, faintly silver, with a deep jade stone embedded onto it.

“Dorothea Arnault, as much as you may insist no man will ever be good enough for me, I have to counter that _no one_ will ever be good enough for you. You’re so much braver than I am, leaving your class to join ours, to fight alongside us. You’re clever, your magic is _amazing_ , I could never do something like that – and Dorothea, you’re so… you’re so _beautiful_. It’s more than your appearance, I mean, and your voice, though both are so – so _amazing_ that I can’t really put it into words, but _you_ are beautiful, Dorothea, on the inside, your _heart_ is more radiant than any dashing knight in any story I’ve read.

I know you don’t think you’ll have a happy ending, Dorothea, but I – I know that if _I’m_ going to have one, it has to be with _you_. I don’t care if you’re a commoner, if you have no money, I don’t _care_ if you don’t have a crest, as if you could _ever_ be anything less than special – Dorothea, all I could ever want is to stand at your side, to hold your hand, to see your face every day when I wake up, no matter how wrinkled. I want to tell you how wonderful you are every _minute_ , Dorothea, and the only reason I don’t is because I know if I did, Felix–”

Eyes glimmering with tears, Dorothea couldn’t help but cut her off with a watery chuckle. “Oh, _yes_ , _Felix_. No wonder.”

“ _Anyways,_ ” Ingrid continued, a hand finding one of Dorothea’s to hold tightly, “Dorothea, you… you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met, and I can’t imagine my life without you. My father – he only said I had to be betrothed, but not that I couldn’t do the betrothing. Like I said, I don’t care where you come from, Dorothea, I only care that you’re _you_. With you, I feel as though I can do anything, fight any battle – even if it means not finding an easy way out for Galatea. Even if it means years of repairing our reputation, of figuring things out – we can ask his Majesty for financial aid, if we must, and to get on the people’s good side – I cannot _imagine_ anyone being able to resist your charm, my love.

“Five years ago, you warned me away from one of the worst suitors I’ve ever had. When all was said and done, I offered you a prayer ring in thanks, and you – to this day I don’t know if you were joking or serious when you did it, but you assumed it was a proposal, and accepted. You gave the ring to the professor for safe keeping, and, and…”

Holding up the ring to the light, Ingrid made sure Dorothea could see it in full. “I… when we found the professor again, I asked them a favor. It took some time, but they… they followed through as well as I could possibly imagine. I didn’t… have the stomach to spend enough for a diamond, though you’re worth even more, but I always thought that jade would be so beautiful, so similar to your eyes…

“Dorothea Arnault, would you do me the honor of accepting this ring again now, as you did five years ago, and marry me?”

Dorothea’s breath stuttered, a soft _“Oh, Ingrid,”_ escaping her lips before a sharp, jerky nod.

“ _Yes,_ Ingrid, yes, _yes,_ of course I’ll – oh, my darling _Ingrid_ , I would be _honored_ to marry you!”

Ingrid surged upward, barely able to slide the ring upon Dorothea’s finger before catching her lips in a kiss, toppling her back over the bed with the force of it. She was perfectly content to stay right there, one hand caught in Dorothea’s brown waves while the other traced her jawline, Dorothea’s own wrapped around her waist, kissing the love into each other as deeply as possible for the eons to come. In fact, Ingrid was so lost in it that she very nearly missed the loud _whoop_ from outside the door.

Startled, she shot up from her position atop Dorothea, moving to throw open the door and find–

“Shh, shut _up_ you _idiot–_ ”

Felix had one hand clapped around Sylvain’s mouth as the redhead cheered, a swell of irritation and exasperated fondness growing in Ingrid’s chest at the sight. Without even saying anything, Felix began to drag the older man down away from the door, closer to the Gautier and Fraldarius rooms.

Ingrid didn’t miss his thumbs up and smirk as he went, though.

Dorothea shut the door behind her as she stepped back into her room, hands immediately about her waist once more as she pressed a kiss to her collarbone.

“Idiots,” she mused, lips humming along Ingrid’s skin, “I suppose I can let it slide this once, since they’re practically brothers to you.”

“Bothers, more like,” Ingrid smiled, shaking her head before running her fingers through Dorothea’s hair. “Yours too, now. You agreed, after all, to marry me.”

“Oh, I suppose I did, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, well,” Ingrid sat them both back down upon the bed, pressing another kiss to Dorothea’s cheek as she did so, “too late to back out now?”

That got a laugh, much to Ingrid’s pleasure, and another kiss, to her elation.

“My _darling_ Ingrid, nothing could ever make me reconsider.”


End file.
